


i’ll be your atlas (and carry us home)

by Pachamama9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Survivor Guilt, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-09 02:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17398175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pachamama9/pseuds/Pachamama9
Summary: Ron’s back seemed to split from the pain; he’d been carring Harry or so long, but he couldn’t stop now. Stopping mant Harry died, and he would not let Harry die. Not today. Ron could feel hot blood trickle from Harry’s wounds down his neck. “Hold on, Harry,” said Ron, through gritted teeth. “We’re gonna be okay.”Ron and Harry go on an emergency Auror mission to Uganda to fight a powerful dark witch who slaughters all Muggles, Squibs, and Muggleborns. Going in, they believe they can defeat her. But they don’t know that fighting this woman and her clan of dark witches and wizards will have earth-shattering consequences.





	i’ll be your atlas (and carry us home)

PRESENT MOMENT

Right about now, Ron was regretting every life decision he’d ever made. Why did he choose to be an Auror again? To leave his brilliant wife, Hermione, so that he could travel all the way to Uganda and fight these psychopaths?

As he carried his best friend on his shoulders, Ron felt as though he was Atlas, the overwhelming weight of the sky crushing him, instead of Ron Weasley, a mediocre Auror, lugging his best friend out of danger and into safety. The forest that surrounded them felt like an overheated cage instead of the warm embrace of Mother Nature, for the heat, thick with blood and the stench of corpses, pressed against them so they felt like they were wading through sewage instead of air. The mixture of his blood and sweat made his clothing cling to him like wet paper, and Ron licked his chapped lips, grunting with the effort as he started up an incline in the forest floor.

A dark purple curse whistled past his head, and Ron rolled Harry off his back to fire back at the wizard with a quick Stunning Spell. Before Harry hit the ground, Ron shot a levitation charm at him so that he would remain floating in the air. It would make it a lot easier to pick Harry up once they started running again.

Unfortunately, Ron’s spell missed, so he tried again, this time with a Body-Bind curse that hit the wizard’s leg and sent him rolling through the dirt. Although his arms burned and trembled violently, Ron picked Harry up and slung him over his back as carefully as he could.

Harry moaned against him, his torso tensing against Ron’s shoulders. Ron’s back seemed to split from the pain; he’d been carrying Harry for so _long_ , but he couldn’t stop now. Stopping meant Harry died, and he would not let Harry die. Not today. Ron could feel hot blood trickle from Harry’s wounds down his neck. “Hold on, Harry,” said Ron, through gritted teeth. “We’re gonna be okay.”

* * *

 

TWENTY-FOUR HOURS EARLIER - 5:43 AM GMT - June 20, 2003

“She’s as bad as Voldemort was,” Harry explained, gesturing to his roomful of international Aurors. He had requested that all of the members of International Confederation of Wizards send their battle-ready witches and wizards into this room to stop this new threat to their world. “Possibly worse. Her name is Nasiche Mwesigye, but she goes by the name of Nguvu now, massacring all Muggles, Squibs, or Muggleborns she finds, as well as anyone who opposes her.” It seemed rather odd to Ron that a man as young as Harry should be leading this emergency international meeting; he was twenty-two, not nearly as experienced as countless others in the room. However, it was Harry who had spearheaded the idea in the first place, declaring that we could not sit idly by and watch a country fall to a newer, bloodier Tom Riddle. It was the young people, in fact, who had perpetuated the plan, locating refugees and organizing meetings like this one, for the First and Second Wizarding Wars had ravaged their childhoods, turning their playgrounds into battlefields. They could never allow the same to happen to any child. “Yes, in the back?”

A Japanese witch, a recent graduate of Mahoutokoro, put her hand down and spoke directly into her wand to translate her words. _“How many death_ s _so_ _far_ , _and_ _how_ _many_ _followers?”_

Harry nodded. “Excellent question. So far, according to the professors at Uagadou School of Magic and the magical community of Uganda, they’ve lost over six hundred Muggles and Muggleborns to Mwesigye, and of those, around three hundred were students and their families. She has around three hundred followers at the moment, and according to my sources, they’re located” —he pointed at the map at the front of the room— “four hundred miles east of the Mountains of the Moon, where Uagadou and all of their students are currently on lockdown. They’re outside the city of Kakoge, organizing their forces and tearing through both Muggle and magical cities. They kill anyone who disobeys; many join her simply out of fear.” He tapped at the board again. “It’s our job to intercept her as soon as possible, before she reaches the school. If she gets there,” he continued, removing his glasses, “she will slaughter the entire school. As they have been in constant rebellion against her and her followers, the Ukamilifu. There are six thousand students at Uagadou, and about five hundred or so have fled the country. Some three hundred students are missing, and at least eighty are confirmed dead.”

A blonde wizard from Koldovstoretz raised his hand, speaking in Russian. “ _I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, but why didn’t we know about thi_ s _beforehand?”_

Ron, from the other side of the room, watched his best friend wither beneath the weight of the question. Harry rubbed his eyes, put his glasses back on, and nodded at the Ugandan woman sitting at the back of the room. Everyone turned as she limped to through the center aisle.

She shook hands with Harry and then turned to face the room of battle-ready witches and wizards. She wore the colourful garb of a Uagadou professor, as she was dressed in bright yellow robes, but she looked more like victim of war than a teacher. She was missing an arm, but the wound was not delicately draped in cloth like the battle scars of many witches and wizards. Instead, the sleeves of her yellow robes stopped in an angry slash at each shoulder, exposing the entirety of her arm. On her right side, her arm had been torn from her body using some sort of dark blue magic that still sizzled and sparked at the wound. What shocked Ron most was that they could see the exposed bone and the flesh around it, all looking like something had dug its teeth into her flesh and ripped her apart. The whole wound was swallowed by a translucent bubble of a magic with a yellow sheen, protecting it from infection or further damage. The rest of her exposed skin matched: her face was missing large chunks of flesh, while her neck and chest were lined with horrific red scars.

The physical was not the only dead giveaway that she had survived a war; her eyes darted around as though there was an enemy around every corner, and she wrung her hands constantly, running her fingers over pale scars there. When she finally spoke, her voice was raspy and worn. She had no wand, as most African wizards used words and hand gestures to fuel their magic instead. So she pressed her other arm, one that was crisscrossed with frighteningly even scars, across her chest, and her throat pulsed a faded red, enabling her to translate her words into English.

“ _My name is Dembe Mamdani, and I am a teacher at t_ _he_ _Uagadou School of Magic.”_ She took a deep, shaky breath. “ _Uagadou_ _and the community of Uganda has been fighting N-N-Nguvu for almost_ _six_ _months_ _now_.” Ron did not fail to notice how she could barely get through the horrible witch’s name, as Ron had been unable to speak Voldemort’s name during the Second Wizarding War. “ _The international magical community has been unaware of the crisis because Nguvu cut us off from the outside world. That was her first tactic, and it prevented any of us from receiving help. She placed spell over all of Uganda that kept anyone fro_ m _leaving_ _the country or using Dream Messengers to contact anyone_.” She coughed erratically. “ _We’ve been forced into silence for a half-year, and all the while they’ve been killing, torturing, mutilating, stealing, threatening…”_ Demde shivered. “ _They want the purebloods to be the only ones left. They want complete control over Uagadou and Uganda, and that’s what they shall_ _have_ _unless_ _we_ _stop_ _them_.”

After her speech, Harry thanked her and turned to the rest of the room. “So, to stop Mwesigye” —Ron noticed he used the woman’s actual name instead of the one she adopted since she had taken power— “I need as many volunteers as possible.” Immediately, every witch or wizard from Uganda or near it raised their hands, as well as most of the American ones and all of the British (as Harry had already convinced them a week prior). The other countries were reluctant to help, as it wasn’t “their problem,” so to speak, but he had scattered responses from individuals of Russia, China, Pakistan, Canada, and Brazil.

After explaining that “Nguvu” could attack their respective countries after taking over her own, as Hitler did in World War II, he got most of the room. “Thank you,” said Harry, “for your time and for your support.”

“Uganda thanks you,” said Dembe Mamdani.

Harry raised his wand to conjure a clock on the wall behind him. “We leave for Kakoge in exactly one hour.” His eyes trained on Ron, his best friend. “Prepare yourselves.”

After the speech, Harry approached him with a nervous smile. “What do you think?” he asked. “You ready to follow me to Uganda?”

Ron chuckled. “I don’t follow you anywhere, Boy-Who-Lived.”

Harry laughed and brought Ron into a firm embrace. “You know, this’ll be my last mission,” he said, releasing Ron. “My last time in the field.”

_Last_ _mission_? Ron was confused by the sudden confession, so he pressed on. “What? Why?”

Harry seemed to burst in delight at the question, beaming like a little kid at Christmas. “It’s Ginny! She’s pregnant!”

His heart rose in his chest, pattering erratically as though a niffler was rifling through his insides for a shiny trinket. “Ginny—wow! Congratulations, Harry!”

His whole body seemed to relax when he talked about it. “It’s gonna be a boy, Ron; I didn’t know you could know this early with babies, because Gin’s about a month along—seven weeks, actually—but those Healers told us at the last appointment! I mean, magic, right? I love magic!” Then he was hugging Ron again, untethered joy seeping from every pore. “I’m having a son, Ron, I’m gonna have a son!”

Ron hugged him back and congratulated him. “This is great, Harry, honestly. I’m so happy for you!”

Then Harry babbled on about the Muggle and magical doctors and the pictures they’d provided (something about an ultrasound, some Muggle device), but Ron’s mind was far away, dazed by the announcement. Ron’s little sister was going to have a baby. Harry was going to have a baby. Merlin’s beard, what was the world coming to?

Ron felt something stir inside of him; it tasted like pride, but beneath it, Ron knew, was something more.

Fear.

Pure, unbridled fear.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more warnings in the future, but this chapter is generally fine. A little violence. Please comment and let me know what you think!


End file.
